Today marks my one-month anniversary from running away from “Home.” Thirty days of everything new. It’s been exciting, exhausting, frustrating, exhilarating, somewhat stressful, entertaining, challenging, and extremely enlightening. Past adventures have taught me to keep my eyes wide open, roll with the punches, stay in the moment — and, above all, expect that shit will hit the fan, and often. Such is life. Life stumbles along as it pleases.
One day I’ll overcome the challenges of this life, then move on to the next. June 22, 2025, however, is not that day. This day will be spent writing, working on my photo editing skills, reading a few chapters of my book, meditating, immersing myself in the culture of my surroundings — and washing my hair. Butterfly wings tickle my tummy, sending a jolt of electricity through my body and into my brain. OMG. I freaking did it. I actually pulled it off. I created this life I’m currently living.
There was no doubt in my mind it would happen. I’ve done this exact thing many times in the past. But with every new adventure, it never really hits me until I’ve marinated in it. I mean, who the hell does this? For as much as I consider myself 25, the reality is I need my grays covered, my Botox injected, and a pharmacy to refill my estrogen patch. Real life has a way of finding me no matter how far I run.
Finding balance in the middle of an earthquake presents challenges. This excites the hell out of me. In the “real” world, I would call the number Google gave me to make the shaking stop. What is driving me to live this existence? I used to love the TV reality show Survivor — sent in an audition tape even. Then a friend of mine was a contestant and told me it basically ruined her life. The Amazing Race became my next obsession. Problem was I couldn’t find another human who had the cajones to audition with me. Chances are we would have been eliminated fairly early on. I got lost in my 399-square-foot tiny house.
Talk about spices… Mama Mia, that’s a spicy Pad Thai. In the land of spice, I flounder. It used to be I could throw down chili peppers with the best of them. Thanks to Covid, my tongue can no longer play along, so I’m relegated to the little kids’ table when it comes to heat. This does not stop me from enjoying a calmer version of Pad Thai. Nor does it prevent me from eating crab fried rice, Thai fried chicken, mango sticky rice, or downing banana smoothies laced with coconut rum. Good God, it’s the freshman fifteen all over again. How do Asians stay so thin? Carb Circuit City.
Keeping with slipping my way into the future, I hang out at the Hyatt Regency Koh Samui for the first four days. Super bougie — and even with my private dip pool upgrade, thanks to employee discounts, I scored this awesome room for 3,963 baht a night. $120 in real money. It’s hard to wrap my brain around the fact that 100 baht is roughly 3 American dollars. I still struggle when I look at that 100 baht bill. The thousand-baht freaks me out even more.
The Hyatt is not exactly in the meat of the town, so I’m stuck in a resort-style setting. Poor me. I know, but this is off-season. I’m still transitioning from vacay to “this is my life” mode, but in reality I have no choice but to give in and enjoy myself — to a degree. I don’t care what country, what monetary units, or what room you are staying in. Resort hotels cost a bunch of shekels — which I literally just found out is an actual currency. Israeli, to be exact. Interesting. Anyway, no disrespect to Israel — you’ve got enough problems to deal with. Suffice it to say: resorts ain’t cheap.
Walking out of the resort onto the scary-ass road to make my way to the 7-11, I’m asked by the guard if I would like a taxi. Nah, I’m gonna hoof it, I say, and he looks at me like I’m demented. I get it. I’ve known the rest of the world drives on the left side. But until I’ve spent most of this month walking everywhere, I never considered which way to walk. Trained seal that I am, I’m constantly banging into people. The whole left-right thing and being out of my enclosure has me discombobulated big time. Cars whizzing by me on an already treacherous winding road, blind corners, and NO sidewalk. I pray my life is worth saving a few bucks by stocking up at 7-11. Then the rain starts tumbling down. Oh, goody.
I’ve almost made the mile trek to the store, rain subsiding a bit when I see a Thai massage place — legendary. I priced one at the hotel: 100 bucks for an hour. Not exactly a steal, but back home, about $350 at any well-known spa. I walk in to check out the pricing as well as to get out of the rain for a few minutes. 300 bucks… wait a minute. It’s 300 baht. 300 baht is roughly 9 American dollars.These 100 bills mess with my head. Five minutes later I’m chilling on a massage table, hot oil and expert hands rubbing my achy bits and pieces, a thunderous rainstorm raging around me. 300 baht or 300 bucks — either way, it was 1,000 percent worth it.
